


Mt. Carmel

by cathalin



Category: Adam Lambert (Musician), American Idol RPF, Kris Allen (Musician)
Genre: AU, High School, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-09-03
Updated: 2009-09-02
Packaged: 2017-10-17 21:31:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,814
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/181352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cathalin/pseuds/cathalin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Kris moves to California and meets Adam at Mt. Carmel High School.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

Kris ducks into the greenhouse behind the school without thinking about it. He just needs--he needs a minute to breathe. Everything's so strange, so different from how it was in Arkansas. He expected the kids to be different, and they are: tanner, more fashionable, blonder. He kind of knew the freeways would be insane, and they are; he's seen more cars in a week than he probably saw in a year back home.

What he wasn't prepared for was the little things, like how everything's kind of brown and dried-out, and the houses climb the hillsides in regulation order, boxy and uniform, all fake adobe and perfect lawns.

Even the air smells different, full of the weird scent of the sagebrushy stuff that grows everywhere, overlain with eucalyptus and the occasional bougainvillea. Once in a while, there's a hint of salt, but it turns out the ocean is pretty far away actually, and he doesn't know when or if he's ever going to see it.

The air in the greenhouse is stifling, close. Unlike most everything at this school, it isn't polished and perfect. There are half-dead plants and dirt littering the floor, and the glass doesn't look like it's ever been cleaned.

He sighs in relief and slumps against the wall, only to straighten up when he hears something, a weird sound from the far corner like a gasp, quickly bitten-off. Maybe it's just a rat or something, but it didn't sound that way. Maybe a puppy that wandered away from its perfect little tract home?

Kris walks cautiously toward where the noise came from. Was that a little snuffling sound? He's not sure, but he quickens his steps.

He's not prepared for what he sees: a guy, a big guy, sitting behind some fertilizer bags. Kris gets a quick impression of red hair and brows, freckled skin and startlingly blue eyes, then there's a flurry of movement and the guy's got his hand over his face.

"Oh, Jesus Christ. Can't you guys leave me alone for one fucking second?" The guy's aiming for angry, but Kris thinks he hears the remnants of tears clogging his voice a little.

"I--"

"Just go away!" The guy takes his hand away and stares at Kris, defiant, and Kris almost takes a step back to leave. Whoa. The guy seemed really harmless, but the look he's shooting at Kris is _intense_. If it weren't for the reddish blotches on his face and the little sound he heard before, Kris would leave, but he's pretty sure the guy's in here because he's unhappy about something. "Tell your asshole buddies they've used up their Adam quota for the week. Find some other idiot to call fag for a while. You, too."

Kris flushes. "But I'm not--I wouldn't--"

The guy -- Adam, he said -- rolls his eyes. "Right. As if your whole team hasn't been making my life a living hell." He gestures at Kris, who's still wearing his baseball jersey.

"But you know what?" Adam stands up and Kris stares; Adam unwinds his body surprisingly gracefully for his height. His considerable height. "I'm not scared. I've been working on not being scared of anything, and I think it's working, because I'm not!" He crosses his arms over his chest and his t-shirt pulls taut on broad shoulders.

Kris shakes his head. "Well, you shouldn't be scared of me, man. And people shouldn't say that, use that word. Who did that?"

Apparently it's Adam's turn to stare. "What?"

"That's just wrong."

Adam's eyes narrow. "Where are you from?"

There, the inevitable question brought on by Kris's accent. Soon to be followed by the jokes. Kris doesn't sigh, but it's a close thing. "Arkansas. And no, my parents aren't first cousins."

"Arkansas!" Adam's laugh is surprising: deep, from the belly, infectious, except Kris isn't going to laugh, because he hasn't been in the mood to laugh for any of the eleven days since he and Mom have been here, or for quite a long time before that. "Do they even know what a fag _is_ down there?"

It's Kris's turn to roll his eyes. "Yeah, well, nice meeting you, too. I need to get home."

Adam cocks his head, raises an eyebrow. "Mama's boy?"

Kris bunches his hands into fists, keeps them at his side with effort. "Shut up about my mama. She hasn't had it easy."

Whoa, Kris hadn't meant that to come out so angry. He presses his lips together tightly against the rest of what he wants to say. Adam's clearly an asshole. Kris turns to leave.

"No, hey, wait." Adam's voice is urgent, softer. "I'm sorry. You. You were being nice, and I was a total asshole. It's just--I'm not used to guys in uniforms being nice to me."

Kris turns back to him, nods once.

Adam breathes out. "I don't even know if I _am_ a fag, you know? Well, I mean, probably. Pretty much for sure. Actually, really pretty positively, if the gay porn at thirteen is any indication. Since I'm fat and have sucky skin and freckles and everything, I'll probably die of old age before I ever get to find out for sure, but it wouldn't even matter, they'd be assholes anyway, since I hate sports and love dressing up and singing."

Kris can feel the flush creep up his neck to his ears. Who talks like this?

"Oh, sorry, didn't mean to embarrass you." Adam doesn't look sorry, though. He's smiling a little, actually, the corner of his mouth twitching up. "So. What's your name, small person from Arkansas where they actually do know what fags are but never say that word because it's not nice?"

Kris can't help it; he snorts a little trying to stop it, but no, it's impossible: he laughs. First, a little, but Adam flips a limp wrist at him, all exaggerated, and says, "And since we're friends and all now, can I just say, someone needs to take in that uniform or something; it's just not working for you," and Kris loses his shit, like, seriously laughs from deep in his chest somewhere, a laugh like he hasn't laughed since way before Dad died.

Adam smiles, and suddenly, wow, he's _beautiful_ , all strong facial bones and solid build and radiating some kind of charisma-energy. He wants to tell Adam he's not fat and that he'll find someone, somebody who sees that beautiful-Adam, but figures that'd be a little over the top.

"So, you sing?" Kris asks lamely, a bit at a loss.

"Yeah." Adam shrugs. "I'm the one, you know, the Star Spangled Banner? The crapped out static morning announcements?" He looks at the far wall, obviously embarrassed.

At first Kris doesn't get it, and then he does. "Are you kidding me? I thought that was, you know, a recording of an opera guy or something. Whoa. Wait, what's your range? I thought I heard chest voice way up into--"

Adam grabs Kris's wrist. "Hold on, hold on. How do you know about chest voice and range? Are you real?" All the affectation is gone from his voice; he's suddenly deadly serious.

"I. Play a little? Instruments?"

"Instruments."

"You know. Um. Guitar. Piano. Viola?"

"Viola! Okay, now I _know_ you're not real. In what universe does a guy who plays baseball and has arms like yours play the fucking _viola_?"

Kris wrests his wrist back from Adam, crosses his arms. "I don't know? One where I told myself a long time ago to not be scared of anything stupid any more? And am trying not to be? I guess?"

Adam gives him a level look, then bites his lip. "Yeah. So, hmm, you're probably good, too. Like, let me guess. Went to state?"

"Would've, 'cept for my Dad getting sick." Kris looks down. He wasn't going to talk about that with anyone, ever.

"Oh. I. I'm sorry. He...?"

"He died. Cancer." Kris presses his lips together. He doesn't want sympathy, never has. "Mom needed a clean break."

Adam reaches out, touches him softly on the arm. "You a senior like me? Junior? Last thing you wanted, to move, probably."

"Sophomore." Kris smiles a little. "Big for my age."

The surprised laugh that pulls out of Adam is worth it. Adam wrinkles his forehead. "Look, you're really cool. I'd love to hang out, try some music? You don't have to be seen talking to me or anything. I get you've got to preserve your jock cred." He looks at Kris speculatively. "You'd probably need a girlfriend first, too. That'd help. And I mean, mess around, do some music. Not, you know." He flips his hand around in a gesture probably meant to be a suave indicator of sex.

Kris's heart contracts a little at the thought that Adam believes the best he can hope for is a friendship on the down-low, but it also pisses him off. "In case you haven't noticed, I'm not running for the hills even though your fricking hand's been on my arm for about a century. And I told you, I don't give a crap what anyone thinks. And also, I don't want a girlfriend yet. I just broke up with mine from home."

"Oh." Adam smiles, a little at first, then the blindingly bright one again. "In that case, do you like rock?"

Kris smiles back. "Just a little. And hi. My name's Kris. Kris Allen."

"Well, then hello there, Kristopher Allen." Adam sticks out his hand and they shake. "And welcome to Mt. Carmel."

* * *


	2. Chapter 2

Kris grips the door handle a little tighter and tries to focus on not throwing up.

"Rad, right?" Adam grins and takes the next curve a little faster. The wind whips at Kris's hair and pulls tears from his eyes. He grins in Adam's general direction anyway, because it feels so awesome to get away from Mt. Carmel, his crappy apartment, his stupid job at McDonald's, and, though he feels disloyal even thinking it, his mom.

Adam must sense Kris's discomfort with their speed, because he slows, just a little. "Just wait until you see! We're almost there!" he yells over the wind and the radio, cranked to the highest volume possible. "I still can't believe you haven't seen it yet!"

The borrowed convertible rounds another curve, and Adam yells, "There! And smell the air!"

Kris guesses he can make it out, a sliver of darker blue under the dome of the perfect California sky, but it's nothing special. There is something new in the air, though, a hint of brine, a little exotic.

"Yeah, baby!" Adam yells and they descend, hair-raising turns around switchbacks. And suddenly, _whoa_ , that sliver of darker blue has turned into a wide stretch of water to the horizon. Kris makes out white froth and lines of breakers, stacked up as far as he can see to the north and south. Adam pulls the car suddenly down some side street, screeches to a stop and cuts the engine; it's really quiet. He looks at Kris triumphantly. "Well, come on."

Kris feels a little bit like a truck hit him; he's been feeling that way since Adam showed up after Saturday practice, all bouncy, eyes sparkling. "I gotta check with my mama, though," Kris had said. He'd been a little apprehensive about Adam seeing their shitty place, and his mom meeting Adam, but Adam had stuck out his hand all polite, and seemed genuinely thrilled about the color she'd painted the kitchen, and before Kris knew it Adam was sitting at the table eating some of her cookies with milk while she packed them sandwiches. "You want to come, Mrs. A?" Adam asked, obviously totally sincere. Kris gritted his teeth, because yeah, he loved his mother, but seriously, it was like the opposite of cool to take your mom to the beach, and besides, he wanted to be able to blast Thriller or the Stones, and hear Adam swear a lot and maybe catch him up on some gossip so he'd understand how things were at school. Mama had laughed, her genuine one, but declined. "No, you boys run along. Maybe next time. I've got to go to work in a bit, anyway." Kris hated thinking about his mom working so much, but she insisted it helped her keep her mind off things.

"Grab something and follow me!" Adam's arms are already full, so Kris carries what's left: a cooler from his mom and two foam boards with rope-like things on them. "Wasn't sure I could find this place again. It's off the beaten path so there aren't too many people."

Kris rounds a corner and stops dead in his tracks. They're standing on white sand that stretches as far as he can see in either direction. Cliffs rise almost straight up from the water in one direction; in the other, the beach traces a gentle crescent, and low houses discretely hug its curve. Splotches of color indicate riots of blooming plants. The briny smell is stronger here, and there's a gentle roar of waves, the screaming of seagulls circling overhead.

"Come on, let's go!" Adam drops all their stuff in a pile and grabs one of the boards from Kris. "Watch," he says, tying the Velcro fastener around his left wrist as they walk toward the water. "Go on, get in, I'll be right after you." If Kris had been watching closer, he would have paused at the slight twitch of Adam's mouth, but he's still sort of overwhelmed, so he basically runs straight in.

For a second he can't even breathe, then he gasps. "Holy crap! It's fu-frickin' freezing!"

Adam's doubled over laughing, safely on the sand. "The Pacific is fucking freezing all the time, hate to tell you."

"Okay, you're dead." Kris narrows his eyes. "When you least expect it. When you think you're safe."

Adam cracks up even harder. "Oooh, I'm so scared!"

"Yeah, well, like I said. Watch your back." Kris bites back a smile. "Like right now!" He uses the board to shoot a huge wave of freezing water at Adam, hears a satisfying scream, then heads out deeper before Adam can recover. It's a weird feeling at first, the powerful waves hitting him, but pretty soon he's reveling in it, the gentle swell, the powerful upsurge, salty water in his face.

"You are dead, Allen." Adam's caught up to Kris and he's grinning, hair plastered to this face. "Isn't it awesome, though?"

"Totally. So, how do you do this?"

Adam shows him how to boogie board, and pretty soon they're launching themselves in front of bigger and bigger waves. It's exhilarating and frightening, being tossed around like a piece of paper, then slammed into the sand.

They ride the waves for what seems like forever. A huge wave, the biggest yet, rises up behind them. They exchange looks. "Holy shit!" Kris doesn't know whether to duck under or ride. "What d'ya think?"

Adam grins. "No risk, no reward?"

Kris decides, yeah, and they both catch it just before it breaks. The curl catches Kris's board just right, slams him down onto the top of the water, shoots him forward and spits him out, choking and laughing, on the sand. He turns and Adam is next to him, covered in sand and seaweed, trying to get up and laughing. Kris would hardly recognize him as the same person he found in the greenhouse just two weeks ago. Adam's eyes are sparkling, warm on Kris. Kris wants to thank him, for all of this -- introducing him to the few people at school who straddle the line between jock and nerd, showing him where the cheapest fast food places are, putting bizarre notes in his locker to make Kris smile at random times. But that would be weird, thanking someone for this. "I can't move. My body's going to be found here in the morning."

Adam smiles back. "Ditto."

Eventually they get up and sprawl on their towels, pounding down sandwiches and cookies -- mama really went all out. It's hot once Kris dries off, and he can feel himself sinking down into the warm sand, the exhaustion of his schedule getting to him. He opens his eyes and Adam is looking right at him, head turned to the side, face resting on his forearm, a weird expression in his eyes. Kris's stomach feels a little funny.

"Thank you." Adam's eyes are warm. They stand out, almost purple blue in this light, against Adam's pale skin.

"What?" Kris feels like he's missed something here entirely.

"You know, for hanging with me. You even do it when there's people from your team around. They might--You didn't have to do that today, get in the car right then. I was going to come get you later."

Kris rolls his eyes. "I told you, I don't care."

"Those two big guys looked pretty freaked. They might cause problems."

"Whatever. I'm the one who should thank you." Kris picks up handfuls of sand and lets them drain out, hourglass style; he never knew sand was so soft. "I mean, I was, well, I didn't know anyone, and now I know the theater geeks and the secret musician-jocks and stuff."

Adam takes a breath as if he's going to say something, then bites his lip.

"What?" Kris turns on his side towards Adam.

"It's just. I've really only had one friend, one real friend here, for a long time. You know how awesome Danielle is, but I'm really glad to have found you."

Kris smiles. "I don't think you found me. I think it was the opposite."

Adam flushes and turns away. Kris reaches out without even thinking about it, curls his hand over Adam's shoulder. "Hey."

"It's just...embarrassing," Adam mumbles into his towel. "I swear, it's like the only time I've cried in five years."

Kris squeezes a little, feels the damp fabric under his hand. He realizes that Adam wore his t-shirt into the water, has had it on the whole time. "I know, don't worry about it. Adam...?" Now it's Kris's turn to not finish a sentence.

Adam turns back around to face Kris. "Yeah?"

"I just wondered. Why don't you ever take your shirt off. I mean, it's been a hundred degrees, and you're always all covered up."

Adam raises an eyebrow, says low and sultry, "You saying you want to see me naked, Arkansas?"

Kris feels his face heat, but he's also pissed, because--

"No. Oh god, sorry, sorry, see, I don't know how to have a friend, I'm just a bitch." Adam sighs dramatically and rolls onto his back, covers his eyes with his forearm. "Why do you think? I hate my body, okay? Everything about it. I hate my stupid red hair and I hate, hate, hate my freckles and pale skin, and I hate being fat, hate it, hate it. There. You can make fun of me now. I would."

Kris shakes his head. Adam would have a great body if he worked out a little. And even as it is, there's something about his gracefulness and solidity combined that make him attract eyes wherever he goes. "You never liked sports?"

Adam splutters. "Understatement! God, standing out there in the heat, everyone looking at me, and I always drop the ball or miss the goal or whatever. I don't even like going to the ocean, actually."

Kris raises an eyebrow. "Sure seems like you like it."

"It's been years since I've gone to the beach," Adam sighs. "Mainly because I'm so busy, I mean, this is my only free weekend for months, but also because, well."

"I think you're beautiful." The words fall into sudden silence, sit there and sit there, and Kris has never felt so awkward in his life. Jesus, he is such a retarded--

"Well, that's a conversation killer!" Adam's laugh is deep, from the belly, the genuine one. "Kris Allen," he stage-whispers, "You are not like other boys. You are something else!"

"Okay, okay," Kris finally says. "I think we've humiliated me enough for one day."

"I don't think so," Adam says. "We've talked about my deepest insecurities. Now let's do yours."

"Let's not." Kris turns over definitively, pulls his sweatshirt over his face. Everything's warm and relaxed, and he falls easily into a deep sleep.

When he wakes up, it's to the low sound of singing. Adam's voice -- he'd recognize it anywhere already, had been amazed when he'd heard him sing live for the first time. Now, though, Adam's not going for power, just singing low in his register, "and I will sing a lullaby..." One of Kris's favorite Beatles melodies, and it's gorgeous when Adam goes low like that.

Kris opens his eyes. Adam's staring at Kris, hand a few inches from Kris's forearm, flung toward Adam on the sand. There's that look in Adam's eyes again, but this time, even Kris can read it. It makes Kris's stomach twist a little, probably because he figures Adam's had a lot of people say no to him over the years.

"Oh." Adam colors. "Sorry, I--Oh god, so embarrassing. This is just not my day." He sits up and sighs, starts gathering things together.

"Uh." Kris reaches out and grabs Adam's arm. "What're you doing?"

"Packing, duh, cue heterosexual freak out in five, four..."

Kris rolls his eyes. "Yeah, because I'm so freaked out right now."

"You're--You're not?"

"Sorry, did you want me to be? It's no big deal."

"No. Big. Deal. That I lust after you?"

"Eh. I lust after girls all the time. Doesn't mean I can't be their friend."

"Doesn't mean--" Adam's eyes are suspiciously shiny, and it makes Kris want to, to -- he doesn't know what it makes him want to do, but something, because no one should feel that bad about who they are. He wraps his hand around Adam's forearm, just squeezes a little. Adam swallows hard and looks away.

"I've got one for you, though," Kris says softly. He bites his lip. It's been something he's been kind of wanting to talk about, but there just hasn't been a good time. "I'm kind of, kind of religious? Or, at least I was, before Dad--My mama, she's looking for a church for us here?"

Adam turns, narrows his eyes at Kris. "Are we talking, like, Tammy Faye, with the mascara?"

"Sort of, I guess." Kris presses his lips together. "It's just. But I don't--"

"Don't proselytize, obviously, don't consign part of the human race to hell because of the way they were born, apparently."

"Exactly." Something eases in Kris's chest.

"Hmm. So you've been, what, angry because your dad got sick?"

"Yeah. Cliche and all that."

"Makes sense to me. But," Adam bites his lip, "if it's important to you, then, you shouldn't turn away from it. Just, you know, it's part of who you are, probably. You shouldn't lose that."

"Okay," Kris says, but he's not sure he can really do it.

"So, I suppose even though I'm a secular Jew who actually is on my best days at most agnostic, I suppose, all things considered, in the words of Kris Allen, that it's no big deal." Adam sits up and dusts sand off his legs, looks out at the ocean. "I mean, sometimes I do feel this huge, you know, something, towards the Universe I guess? It's kind of a question, sometimes, and sometimes more of a big gratitude. It's all so, it can be so--" He gestures toward the deep-blue water, the sun sinking low on the horizon, sparking pink and orange and yellow off the edges of fleecy clouds.

"Yeah." Kris smiles. Of course someone like Adam would feel that stuff; how could he not. Kris kind of feels that way looking at Adam sometimes, actually.

Adam smiles at him. "You want to hit it again before we have to go back?"

"Yeah," Kris says. "I think I do. Race you!"

He's almost at the water when Adam barrels past him, running straight in. "Banzai!"

The few people left on the beach turn and stare. Kris swallows, then takes a deep breath, yells as loud as he can, "Incoming!"

He runs straight into the water, not stopping until he's out at the breakers. Adam's laugh soars over the sound of the gulls, the waves, his racing heart. He takes another deep breath and tries a little prayer, just a tiny one, something about thanks, something about healing, something about hope.

Maybe California's going to be okay after all.


	3. Chapter 3

The first time Kris hears Adam sing, really sing, is at the Spring concert four weeks after they move to Rancho Penasquitos, right after he first meets him. His mama insists they attend, that it's good for becoming part of the _school community_ , whatever the hell that means. He sits next to Daniel and her, which is so embarrassing in itself he just tried to squish down in his seat and not think about it. But when Adam sings his solo, the embarrassment just, like, multiplies, because Kris feels his mouth fall open, literally open, and no matter how he tries, he can't focus enough to keep it closed for long. Because Adam singing is... There aren't words for it. His voice isn't like anything Kris has ever heard. It's freaky high, but then low and solid, it soars, it dips, it resonates somewhere in Kris's stomach. His mom reaches over and clutches Kris's arm. Mortified, Kris looks over, and there are tears standing in her eyes.

So it takes Kris a long time before he'll even open his mouth when they're jamming with the little group that somehow materializes around Adam. Kris just can't imagine singing in front of someone who can sing like _that_. But Adam is nonchalant, shrugging his shoulders and insistent that Kris join in, so finally, eventually, he does. He gets used to it, kind of, and it's fun.

They hook up some equipment in Danielle's basement; her parents are kind of crazy and cool. Danielle and the other Drama Girls cycle through singing with them when their schedules allow it. Kevin, a guy Kris recognizes from orchestra, plays drums. Natalie starts out playing guitar and keyboards, but begs for Kris to take over so she can play bass and sing. She's good, too, and can play guitar okay if Kris plays keyboards, so it's pretty tight.

Kris has ideas all the time for arranging songs, maybe adding a funky backbeat to a ballad or changing a boy-band song to something with a rap rhythm. Everyone is really smart and gets that kind of stuff right away. It only took Adam one time, hearing Kris futzing around on guitar with some random arrangement of _Lady Madonna_ , and now Adam insists on asking Kris every chance he gets whether he can fix a song to make it better. It's good he does, because Kris is still pretty shy about bringing anything like that up.

It's something Kris does without even really thinking about it. Just, songs are in his head all the time and he's always thinking of how a different rhythm would bring out the words better, or how some other song is in the same key and can fit with it in a mashup, things like that.

Tonight is their first real performance. Well, not performance exactly, but kind of a gig, the sixteenth birthday party for one of the cheerleaders from school, a girl who sings in choir and doesn't seem to care that their band is geeky and decidedly uncool. Or actually, she obviously cares, but apparently mommy and daddy didn't agree to pay for live music, so it's either them or her little brother playing DJ.

A lot of the people at the party ignore them as they're setting up, and Kris definitely sees a group of popular kids whispering behind their hands about Adam. Kris's stomach hurts when they start playing, but he's used to ignoring it. Adam hits a couple of false notes, Kris screws up on the harmony and Kevin plays the intro they'd decided to scrap before realizing it and fumbling a segue into the new version. A couple of kids roll their eyes and conversations get louder, but after a while Adam's voice starts soaring on a rock riff and Kris gets his own act together, the instruments click into place, and next thing Kris knows, the patio is rocking.

"Now you!" Adam says, face glowing and sweaty.

Kris shakes his head, but knows he can't escape; they'd practiced this at Adam's insistence. He puts his head down for the first few bars of _Like A Prayer_ , relishing the tight sound of the band coming in, Adam's perfect harmonies, but after a while, the joy of it grabs him, makes him look up. The crowd, that had obviously been skeptical at first, is really into it, starting to dance and even clap a little in that way that's ironic but not; making fun of themselves but also really grooving. It's a rush, the music all gelling, feeding on the energy of the people there, their energy feeding back to him. He feels...he doesn't even know how to describe it. He knows he probably looks crazy, but he doesn't care; this is _it_ for him, this is what he wants, a whole space full of people being transported on his music. He lets himself go, jumping in time with the beat, kicking his foot in syncopated time, throwing his head back.

Later there's weed, and crappy vodka, back behind the house in a little ravine forested with scrub pines and imported deciduous trees. Kris has already encountered snakes and spiders in places like this, but Danielle spreads a blanket and it's pretty awesome, the high of performing a gentle buzz under his skin.

Eventually it's just him and Adam. The rest of the band had to go home. Kris should too, any minute. Adam already said he'd drive Kris home whenever, so it's on him. There are still people at the party, but it sounds like it's turned quieter, just some slow dancing and quiet conversation that wafts over to them intermittently.

He thinks maybe Adam's fallen asleep; his breaths are rhythmic and slow and his arm is thrown up over his eyes. It's been a while since either of them said anything.

"You awake?" he murmurs.

Adam nods and takes his arm away. Kris can barely see him in the scant light from the party, but he can see his smile, the white flash of teeth. "I love it. I love it so much. Performing."

"I know."

"You do, too." Adam pushes up to one elbow and looks down at Kris. "You lit up like, I don't know." He laughs. "Like something lit up!"

"I don't--"

Adam rolls his eyes. "Don't even, Kristopher Allen. Look me in the eyes and tell me you love thwacking the ball with some stick as much as you love being onstage, singing and playing music."

Kris can feel his mouth contorting into a smirk. "There's nothing like baseball, man. You don't know what you're missing."

"The excitement of standing around waiting for a little spherical object to possibly come towards you. A combination of ninety five percent total boredom and five percent terror of looking like an idiot."

Kris schools his expression. "All the guys in tight pants..."

Adam huffs out a breath of laughter and collapses back down on his back. "Point. But I don't think they'd take too kindly to me ogling them."

"I do love it," Kris says after a few minutes. "It's like...like nothing else. No. It's kinda like worship in church. That sounds weird though."

"Depends. All I know is, I'm going to do whatever it takes to be able to do that. For my life. For a living."

Kris inflects his voice high. "Oh, Adam Lambert, can I have your autograph now before you get famous?"

"Idiot."

Kris leans up over Adam and simpers. "You're so hot, rock star, I'll do anything for you..."

Adam shakes his head. "Hopeless."

"Autograph. I mean it." Kris scrounges in his pocket. "Give it to me." He hands Adam a pen.

"Mmm, I'll give it to you, honey."

"Ha, ha." Kris checks his pockets for paper but can't find any.

"That's okay. Rock star approach," Adam says, sitting up and grabbing Kris's arm. "I'll just sign... you." He wiggles his eyebrows.

Kris sighs melodramatically then pitches his voice to sound as much like a tween as he can. "Oh, my _god_!!"

For a minute there's no sound but the breeze in the branches of the trees, a dog somewhere far off barking. Adam's hand is warm around Kris's forearm, holding him in place. The pen tickles and scratches, but then it's done. Kris looks down and can't help it; he cracks up. Adam's scrawled his initials in the crook of his arm.

"Rock star, baby. Just don't wash for about five years and it'll be worth millions." Adam pushes up to a stand. "We'd better get home. Come on." He reaches a hand down to Kris and Kris takes it, pulls himself up to a stand. It's really quiet now; the party's completely over. The moon's rising, painting everything in silver. He can smell Adam; leftover sweat from singing such epic shit, some of the cologne he's started wearing. He looks up at his face. Adam's usually so animated, but right now he's quiet, staring at Kris's arm, where his initials stand out starkly in the moonlight. Kris stands still, energy from tonight still sizzling him him, liking the feeling of Adam's eyes on his skin.

Adam looks up finally, at Kris's face. "Oh. Sorry, I--"

Kris suddenly feels how close they are; he's inches from Adam. Adam's lips are chapped. The weed must have been stronger than he realized; it's a little hard to breathe.

"No, it's cool. I kinda like it. My arm." It slips out before Kris even knows he's thinking it. "I mean..." He feels his face heat, because that was such a ridiculous thing to say. "I mean, it's not like..."

"It's okay," Adam says softly. "Whatever. We're cool. Right?"

"Yeah. You know it, bro." Kris takes a step back.

Adam drives him home and it's still quiet, like the moon's cast a spell. "Wanna do something tomorrow?" Kris asks.

Adam smiles. "Really?"

"I've gotta try to catch a spherical object with a bunch of guys in tight pants, but yeah, after that, we could jam for a while."

\---

It's really hot,, like, Sahara Desert hot, over a hundred, but they still don't call the game. Mt. Carmel has a shot at going to State, something that's got everyone on edge. Even though he's tired and a little hungover from last night, Kris plays incredibly. It's like he's hyper focused on the ball, the bat, his legs when he runs and gets a double.

"Didn't think you had it in you." It's Jake, one of the big guys, a senior, with his posse of three other players. They've showered and are heading out to their cars. Mike tips his head toward Adam, sitting on the hood of his car waiting for Kris and the guys laugh, not a nice laugh.

"Thought maybe you had something else in you, get it?" Chris, not the brightest light, gestures towards Adam, who's looking at the little scene now.

"Yeah, well, whatever." Kris tries to turn towards the car, but Mike catches his arm. Kris feels like Adam's initials are burning through the fabric of his hoodie; they were covered by his jersey so he didn't wash them off.

"Maybe if you didn't hang out with your faggoty friends all the time you'd actually amount to something on the team," Mike says, fake-cheerful.

"Well maybe if you weren't so stupid you might be able to anticipate the pitch," Kris says, immediately wanting to hit himself.

Mike's hand on Kris's arm tightens. "What did you say?"

"Mike," Jake says.

Adam's stands up from where he was sprawled on his car, looking like he's going to start walking over. Kris heart is beating fast.

"Just." Kris shakes his head and smiles at Mike. "Can we just not do this."

"Take it back."

"I don't think I'm the one with something to take back." Kris wants to kick himself, but the stupidity is frying something in him. It would feel good to connect his fist with this guy's face, actually; he's sure he could get a couple of good hits in before Mike could get any in back.

"Yeah, well, guess it's true what they say," Mike says low. "About guys without fathers turning into fairies. What happened, did daddy find some cute young thing? Or did you even ever know who he was?"

Kris can't breathe. Everything's hazy, kind of red. All he sees is Mike's jeering face. His arm pulls back and his hands fist.

"Kris!" Adam's voice, really close. "Stop."

Kris hesitates for a second and Adam grabs his arm. "No. Stop. Don't do this." He turns to the big guys. "You fuckers. His father _died_. Assholes. He's got more guts than any of you do in your pinkies."

Kris can't breathe. That was private. "Asshole," he says to Adam.

"Probably, but this is stupid." Adam turns to the guys again. "If you want to beat me up because I'm faggoty or whatever, do it. But leave him alone. He's just a nice guy. He's friendly to everyone. His father fucking died. Can you get that?"

Mike's hand uncurls from Kris's arm and he takes a step back. "Uh. Oh. Uh, sorry, man, I didn't--"

"You've done enough, princess." Adam pulls Kris away from the guys, guides Kris toward his car. Kris can't really see or hear anything. Thank god, Adam doesn't try to talk to him or get Kris to talk. He just cranks some Stones and drives. Drives and drives; eventually Kris feels his body relax some, then some more. Once in a while, he feels Adam's eyes on him.

"You want to go home instead of--?"

Kris exhales. "No," he decides. "I'm pissed, but. If we don't go today, neither of us can do it for, like three months, so."

Adam takes a turn, then another. Kris figures out he's been driving in big circles, just driving, all that time. "Beach or mountains?"

"There are mountains?"

"Right." Adam takes an off-ramp, then an on-ramp, then another, and they drive east for a while until the car's climbing and there are actual fricking meadows of flowers and some jagged, rocky peaks.

They hike to the top of something major; Adam's got sandwiches and sodas. "This is nothing," Adam says, panting. "The Sierra has real mountains. Someday we should take a bunch of people up there, camp at Yosemite." He wipes sweat off his face; his skin is all mottled and red. He frowns. "I'm so fat."

Kris doesn't say anything.

"Adam grabs his canteen and opens it up, offers it to Kris silently.

Kris just shakes his head.

Adam pushes out a big breath of air. He eyes Kris over the canteen. "You're intense when you're mad. It doesn't happen very often, but when it does..."

"It's private." Kris knows it's kind of ridiculous, but he can't help it. "I don't care what those guys think, or say."

"You'd care when their fists smashed into your face."

"I'm not afraid of them. I told you."

"Well fuck you very much. Sorry for saving your face." He adds after a second. "And mine."

They sit in silence on the top of the mountain for a long time. Right below there's another one of those meadows. There are flowers, and birds, and actual butterflies. It looks like something from some fantasy land of sunshine and rainbows.

Kris picks up some gravel, feels it trickle slowly out of his fist onto the ground, picks more up and does it again, over and over. "My dad took me camping a lot when I was little. Me and my brother."

Adam nods, quiet. Doesn't say anything.

Kris takes a deep breath. "He found out at a random checkup. They didn't tell us much at first. Daniel and me."

Adam is totally silent. There's just the buzzing of insects in the meadow grass, a stray chipmunk chattering.

"It took four years from that until he died."

"Jesus." Adam's hand reaches towards Kris, then falls back onto the ground. Kris stares at it. Adam's freckles stand out, stark. He's going to get a bad sunburn if he doesn't get in the shade or put on some sunscreen.

His father's hands, at the end, were curled, like a baby's. Stripped of fat, like sticks. "It was--I was the oldest, so I took care of Daniel a lot. My mom. She's really strong, but sometimes she'd like, forget to get food in the house or take Daniel somewhere. It was what I could do, helping out, you know?"

"Yeah." Adam's hand inches towards Kris on the dirt, but stops a few inches from him.

"He would have loved it here." Kris motions to the mountains, the meadow, the deep blue sky. He reaches across the inches and touches Adam's hand. "He loved music, too. He had a band before I was born. Played music all the time when I was growing up. When he was--"

Adam turns his hand over, takes Kris's hand in his and squeezes. His hand is warm and sweaty and so... so real.

"I played him music when, at the end. Everything he loved. The Who, Queen, Elvis, you name it. Brought his record player in to play all the old albums. He loved to hear me play, too. I started writing songs because he said he knew I had them in me, and he, he..."

Adam tugs and Kris goes, willingly. Adam pulls him in tight up against him, one big hand behind his head and the other behind his back. Kris puts his face into Adam's shoulder and lets it happen. Finally, for the first time, he just lets himself.

Adam's voice is a low croon in his ear, words Kris mainly doesn't hear, just "It's okay, it's okay, let it out."

After a long time, he's done. Adam's shirt is wet under his face. He just, he just stays there. It feels like there's only this; the warm embrace of a friend's arms, a friend who won't judge. Adam's hands are huge and warm and press him into him just right.

It's still fricking embarrassing as heck, so when he finally pushes himself up and away, he turns away from Adam, digs for his sunglasses in his backpack. They're not there, which is just awesome.

"Here." Adam hands him a pair of sunglasses. They're huge and have sparkles around the edges. "You ain't lived 'til you've worn these, honey," Adam says in his worst southern accent.

Kris looks at them for a second and puts them on, then finally looks at Adam. Adam's eyebrows shoot up on his forehead and the corner of his mouth quivers suspiciously.

A laugh bubbles up inside Kris and escapes, and then they're both laughing, loud and ridiculous. A chipmunk startles and stares, then runs away. "These sunglasses are scaring the wildlife! They're ridiculous!"

"No, they're _fabulous_." Adam grins at him. "We'd better get going, Gorgeous. The sun'll go down and we'll die out here with nothing but fashionista glasses to sustain us."

"Yeah, yeah."

They hike down in silence. Everything's beautiful and brilliant and alive, and it only hurts a little.

Adam drops Kris off at home late. Kris is exhausted and sunburned and feels like he's been on a roller-coaster.

"Sometime. If you want. You could play me the songs you wrote? Write? If you'd want. I write a little bit, poetry and lyrics, some music. But it's crap. Still."

Kris nods and gets out of the car. "Wait!" He leans in the open window. "I just wanted to say, thanks. For, you know. Here." He thrusts the glasses into the car.

Adam looks at them. "Why don't you keep them. For when you need to get away from it all."

Kris is going to insist Adam take them back, but Adam's smiling at him and he can't--"Okay."

"Okay."

Kris sleeps like a log, and no nightmares haunt him tonight.

\---

Kris plays one of his own songs, a newer one, for Adam later that week. It's the first time anyone's ever heard it.

"Mmm, that's beautiful. I love the way you laced that metaphor about sleep through the whole thing. And I love the key change. And the way the chorus changes after-- Okay, fuck, I love the whole thing. Sign me up for the Kris Allen fanboy club!" He laughs, the deep infectious one Kris can't resist.

Kris grins at him. "Flattery. I have a lot of work to do on it."

"Another! I demand it!" Adam's in full dramatic mode, but the effect is ridiculous because he's wearing...

"What the hell _are_ you wearing?"

"Well, the pants are from a thrift store in Mission Beach, but they're real leather. The shirt is adorable, right? My Dad's old shirt; he left a bunch of stuff here when he moved out. The boa, well. I have no idea! It's just pretty, the feathers." He looks at Kris intently. "Right?" he asks softly.

"It's all awesome," Kris says.

Adam smiles. "You are awesome."

"No, you are awesome."

"No, you are--fuck this, play another."

Kris does, and it feels good, sharing these songs, born from his sadness. There's a couple of happy ones in there, too, because God is good and things happen the way they're supposed to. And there's a lot of good in the world, and a lot of beauty.

A few days later he bursts into Adam's room with just a cursory knock; Mrs. Lambert -- she insists he call her Leila, which is hard for him -- likes him and is used to them hanging out whenever. He wants to tell Adam that their band is booked again, this time for money, and a bigger party. They need to work up something new for slow dances, he thinks, something everyone will--

"No! Door was closed!" Adam's eyes are huge and he looks, like, scared, something Kris has never seen. He turns away immediately, but not before Kris sees.

"What--" Kris doesn't even know what to ask, not exactly. He could just leave, but something about the sad hunch of Adam's back tells him no, stay. Figure it out. He walks closer to Adam.

"Don't," Adam mutters, but it's half-hearted, like Adam's already given up on something.

"I'm not--It's just me."

Adam's fingers clench tight on the edge of his dresser. There are a bunch of bottles and tubes scattered on its top. Adam turns slowly, eyes cast down. He's got--wow, makeup on, dark lines around his eyes, and something that makes his lips look shiny. He finally looks up with worried eyes. They look more blue than ever, his lashes curled up and thick, dark.

It's quiet, just the sound of their breathing, while Kris looks. It's weird, he's not going to deny that. He doesn't really understand, but. "It's not scary or anything," he finally says. "I just. I guess I don't get it? What... why?"

"I don't either." Adam looks down. "It's something I just think looks cool. It kind of... defies expectations, mixes up male and female. And it makes me feel... I don't know."

Kris gets a weird feeling in his stomach; he kind of likes Adam male. "Do you want to, like..."

"No! Oh, no, not that! I mean, that's cool and everything, but I don't want to be a girl." He quirks a dirty smile. "I like my dick fine, thank you. I just have always wanted to try it, to dress up sometimes, once in a while."

Kris's hand reaches for Adam's face, seemingly of its own volition. Adam's eyes widen when Kris's fingertips touch the eyeliner above his eye. "You look like a different person," Kris breathes.

Adam is silent, standing stock-still.

"Does it feel different? With that on?"

"I don't know yet. Maybe?"

Kris realizes he should stop touching and brings his hand down. "It's kinda punk. Like those bands, you know..."

"Exactly. Plus, Velvet--"

"Goldmine." Kris laughs at Adam's shocked expression. "It's Arkansas, not the eighteenth century. I've seen it a couple of times."

"How have we not talked about this?'

"Dunno."

"I've, I've wanted to wear this to school, some days. Different looks, you know, have fun with it? But I'm not brave enough." He frowns into the mirror. "Too much of a pussy."

"Yeah, well, you can't fight every battle all at the same time. Gotta pick 'em, my dad always said. 'Pick your battles. Only fight the important ones. Most stuff isn't important."

Adam's looking at Kris funny.

"What?"

"It's just, that's the first time I've heard you talk about him, you know, not, uh..."

"Not bawling my eyes out into your shirt?"

Adam grins. "Or ready to hit someone. It's nice to hear stories about him. I'll scrub this off now. It looks kind of ridiculous like this anyway, with my stupid red hair. Not just the color, it's the texture, too..." He fusses with his hair. "You want to practice?"

Kris reaches out and grabs Adam's arm. "No. Leave it. You probably shouldn't wear it to school. Yet. But you can wear it with me. Dress up. Whatever."

Adam's eyes turn warm. "Kris. You are..."

Kris is standing close and Adam's hand is still on his arm, near the faint markings on his forearm where Adam wrote his initials on him. Kris can't stop looking at Adam, darting glances at his brilliant eyes, his shiny lips. It's hard to breathe suddenly. He wants--He feels like he wants something, but he doesn't know what, like there's something just out of reach.

"We'd better." Adam clears his throat. "We'd better get started." He doesn't move, and neither does Kris, not for a while. Eventually Adam moves back, away, and sits on his bed. "Let's arrange our new one?"

"Yeah. Yeah, absolutely." Kris shakes himself. It's like he's been in a dream. He feels... weird.

\- - -

Stuff with the team is tense for a while, but Kris just keeps being himself, and eventually things smooth out. They go to the playoffs and Kris not only is responsible for two huge outs, but manages to hit a line drive that the other team drops, resulting in a critical run at a critical time.

They celebrate with pizza and soda, and then later at Michelle's house, beer; her parents are gone for the weekend and she's called a bunch of extra people to invite them over. Michelle's a cute, blond cheerleader, a sophomore like him. She strikes up a conversation about baseball and movies and it's nice. She presses closer. "Dance with me?"

"Sure." He drains another beer and moves to the area they've cleared for dancing; people are taking turns DJ-ing. She moves into his arms with a smile, presses up against him all up and down his body. Her perfume is sweet, almost too much. She turns her head so her open mouth is on his neck. It's a little uncomfortable. Her hands slide down his back closer and closer to his ass. He gently pushes her away. It doesn't feel right. It feels good, no doubt, just. He guesses he's not ready for this. Things with Katy had been hard, those last few months. She'd tried so hard to understand what he was going through, but, in the end it was better to be friends.

He sees a flash of a familiar blue velvet sleeve out of the corner of his eye. "Uh. Excuse me." He pushes Michelle away carefully. He catches Adam heading out the door. "Hey, I didn't know you were here. Can I get a lift? Where are you going? Didn't you see me?"

Adam does a weird grimace thing, but stops in his tracks. "Hey, yeah. I just thought--" He glances at where Michelle is now happily grinding up against the team's catcher.

"Oh. Yeah, no. I'm not really--Nah."

"Well then, want a ride home?"

"No, I just asked you for a ride home to be an asshole." Kris grins at Adam and follows him out the door.

"Jerk." Adam revs the motor. "You need to go home? Or you want to drive around or something? Go somewhere else?"

Kris shakes his head. "I'm not ready to go home. Still pumped up. Ideas?"

"Well, the park? My back yard? I don't know. Are you working tomorrow?"

"Not until three. Can I stay over, would that work? I don't feel like going home, but I know I'm gonna crash hard."

There's a slight delay, then Adam answers, "Sure. Of, of course!"

Leila's always cool with Adam's friends staying over, just like Kris's mom is. Kris calls his mom from Adam's kitchen to tell her, then rustles through Adam's drawer looking for the sweatpants that kind of fit him, some castoffs from when Adam was younger.

They mess around singing for a long time and drink the beer they've sneaked into the house; Leila isn't _that_ cool. They have to keep it down, but Adam's room is over the garage, separated from the rest of the house, so they can get away with music if it's quiet.

Kris is pretty buzzed on Bud and really tired, so when they finally stop playing his head just kind of falls sideways onto Adam's broad shoulder. Adam stiffens, then holds himself really still.

"What?" Kris asks, lifting his head up heavily. He looks up at Adam, who's looking at him like, like...

Their eyes catch, and hold. Something flutters in Kris's belly and his throat feels kind of tight. Normally Adam would pull away, and he's going to; Adam bites his lip and Kris can feel him tensing up in preparation for moving.

Kris frowns and brings his hand up to lightly touch Adam's hair. "Sparkles," Kris says.

"Glitter. Just a little." Adam's voice sounds funny, kind of throaty.

"I like it," Kris whispers. And he does; the low light from the bathroom glints on a hundred separate points of sparkle.

"I... Kris." Adam's biting his lip still, but his hand comes up to mirror Kris's, brushing at the hair curling over Kris's temple. Adam's face...

Kris's stomach does a belly-flop. He reaches up the last few inches and presses his lips on Adam's. They're full, warm, dry. Adam doesn't do anything back. Kris pulls back and stares up at Adam, fascinated by the rosy flush rising in his face.

"Kris," Adam says again, but his chest is rising and falling kind of fast and he sounds breathless.

Kris kisses Adam again, lingering and pressing. He wants Adam to press back so he can see what this really feels like.

"I, Kris, you, we shouldn't, it's--"

"Chickenshit." Kris whispers it into Adam's ear and Adam laughs, obviously shocked into it. "You want to find out if you're really gay. I want to find out what it feels like to kiss a guy."

"But you're my friend. I don't have that many."

"Nothing's wrecking that. Hey, I'm sorry though. I thought you--Forget it." Kris pulls back, intending to get into the sleeping bag but Adam stops him, hand on his arm.

Adam's hand is shaking. "You thought right. I do, I just--" He presses his lips together and rolls his eyes at himself, then smiles weakly down at Kris.

Adam cups Kris's face with his free hand, and everything is suddenly very real. Kris can feel the individual fingers on his jaw, smell Adam's slightly beery breath warm on his face.

Adam leans down and kisses Kris. His lips are broad and firm. It's still closed-mouth, but already it feels different than kissing Katy or Rebecca, his 6th grade girlfriend. Adam pulls off eventually and looks at Kris. He raises an eyebrow: _okay?_

Kris puts his hand behind Adam's neck and pulls him down again. This time Adam opens his mouth a little and his fingers curl tighter around Kris's arm.

"Come on," Kris says.

Adam gasps and firms his grip behind Kris's neck. His tongue licks at Kris's lips. Kris opens with a sigh and Adam's tongue is in his mouth, tentative at first, then stronger. Kris presses his tongue into Adam's mouth after a while and Adam groans, shifts closer. Kris turns more towards Adam. Adam's tongue pushes back into Kris's mouth and his fingers thread into Kris's hair, firm. Kris feels breathless and raw. Adam's teeth brush Kris's lower lip and Kris pants for breath.

Adam kisses him again and this time they're in sync, taking turns with their tongues, sliding them around each other.

Adam pulls back after a while, pressing little kisses onto Kris's lips, then easing off and leaning his forehead against Kris's. Kris seeks his lips blindly but Adam puts a hand on his chest. "Kris, wait." Adam's voice sounds different, all throaty and choked.

They sit like that for a while, breaths harsh. Kris's pulse beats hard and fast in his ears. He doesn't know what he's feeling. It's all weird, crazy.

"News alert: I'm gay. Definitely. One hundred percent," Adam whispers. He laughs, but it sounds forced.

"I figured," Kris manages.

"Do you--?" Adam swallows. "What did it feel like to kiss a guy? That's what you wanted to know."

"It felt..." Kris shakes his head. "I dunno."

"I figured." Adam pulls back, grabs Kris's hands and squeezes. "Listen, this doesn't need to--I want to be your friend. That comes first. But thank you. You have no idea." He laughs. "No. Idea."

Adam's laugh is infectious. Kris smiles at him; he can't help it. "This isn't going to get weird, man. Okay?"

"Not weird at all. Guys do this all the time, it's nothing." Adam waggles his eyebrows at Kris ridiculously.

"You're ridiculous."

"This is not news to me." Adam grins at Kris. "Go to sleep. I'll just be over here, enjoying my newfound gayitude."

"That's not even a word." Kris crawls into his sleeping bag and Adam lies down on his bed.

It takes Kris a really long time to get to sleep.

The next morning Kris sleeps way late, so late he has to shower and eat and race straight to work; Adam gives him a ride and they don't talk.

The not-talking keeps up, and somehow Kris is always busy and can't do things when Adam asks.

Kris is in the middle of eating lunch three weekends after The Kiss when he realizes; he's been a total dick. He flashes on Adam's face the last time he saw him: resigned, unhappy but trying to put a good face on it.

Shit.

"Mom. I think. I think I'm taking off for the day. Okay?"

She nods. "I'm staying in. I'm going to just relax today." She takes a breath. "Honey, I hope. I hope whatever's been bothering you, you can figure it out? You know I'm always here, right?"

He hugs her and she laughs, surprised. "Yeah, mom, I know."

He takes a few minutes to gather some stuff, drives to Adam's house to do the same thing, then heads to school. Adam's in rehearsal for Carousel. Kris's stupid heart pounds when he walks into the auditorium. He sits down and listens. Halfway through his solo, Adam spots Kris. He falters on a note, then gets it back. Kris feels the same thing he always does listening to Adam sing; transported. Adam ignores Kris, even after rehearsal is over and everyone's leaving.

"Adam. Hey." Kris jogs to catch up to him in the parking lot.

Adam turns. "Yeah?"

Kris is suddenly tongue-tied. "Um."

Adam presses his lips together and turns toward his car.

"No. Wait. Come with?" Kris dangles his car keys from his hand.

Adam frowns and looks at the ground. He rubs the back of his neck with his hand.

Kris steps closer. "I've been a dick," he says low.

Adam stares at the ground some more, then, "Okay, fine." He shakes his head. "I'm so easy, fuck."

They get into Kris's car. "You're free the rest of today?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Okay." Kris drives. He wants to say stuff, but it just feels impossible.

Adam turns on the radio and searches stations restlessly.

Kris manages to find the beach they went to before. Adam's eyes widen when he sees the boogie boards, towels, suits, picnic Kris has packed. Kris feels like such a shit: Adam doesn't expect people to do things for him, or keep their promises. Kris swallows. "Well, you gonna help or do I have to cart everything?"

They get everything set up on the beach and lie down on the towels. There's silence. Kris sighs. "Look, man." He's on his back and it's easier, talking to the sky. "I screwed up. I'm sorry. I told you I wouldn't freak, and then--"

"And then you did. I get it. I got it at the time. It was my fault, too, I shouldn't have--"

"You should have," Kris says, pushing up on an elbow so he can look down at Adam. "You should have believed me. You should be able to believe it when someone, when a friend, says something to you. It was my fault, man, I just didn't expect... " He shakes his head.

"This friendship is important to me. Really important." Adam's all seriousness now. "I want to keep being friends, like, forever."

"Me, too." Kris does, too.

"So let's just. Can we just forget it? Or, leave it behind?"

"Yeah." Kris feels warm and happier than he's been in, well, three weeks. "Yeah, definitely." He eyes the ocean. "Race you?"

"Okaaay..." Adam narrows his eyes. "No cheating."

"Oh, I'm cheating." Kris pushes up and races for the beach, shedding his sunglasses and shirt as he goes.

"Motherfucker!" Adam yells across the deserted beach.

Kris throws himself past the freezing shallows and dives headfirst into the first big breaker. He sputters when he comes up.

"You are a cheater, Kris Allen," Adam yells, diving in after him.

Kris laughs and Adam shoves a huge wave of water at him, and things are good. They body surf for a long time, then by mutual unspoken agreement, head for their towels. Kris unveils the supper he's packed: cold chicken, leftover potato salad, brownies, cokes.

Adam arches an eyebrow. "My mother warned me about boys like you."

Kris giggles and they dig in. He gives Adam the last brownie. Adam shakes his head and Kris sighs. "You're doing that weird-about-eating-thing again, aren't you?" Adam doesn't say anything. "Just, don't. You're a big guy. That's, actually, well, a lot of people like that."

Adam takes it and breaks it in half. "We'll split it."

Later they watch the sun go down and Kris shivers; it's suddenly chilly. He edges closer to Adam, unsure of what's okay and not, now. Adam darts a quick look around the beach; they're alone. "You're freezing. You wanna?" He holds out an arm. "I don't mean. I just mean..."

"I know." Kris snuggles gratefully into Adam's side. He's warm and solid and so very kind. It should be weird, but it isn't. "I don't know," Kris says quietly after a long time has passed. "I don't know anything. I got a little confused, but I don't know if I'm. I just--"

"Knowing things is overrated." Adam pulls him in a little tighter against his side. "And relationships don't fit into boxes. Or people. You have your whole life to figure everything out. I just. I just want to be friends."

"Well, that." Kris finds Adam's hand and squeezes it. "That's covered."

"Then all is right with the world."

Kris thinks of how far he's come since moving to California. He looks at the curling waves, the soaring gulls. He thinks about his momma, starting to smile again. Baseball, the band. The songs that are flowing out of him like breath, now.

He's always known that, he thinks, that things, people, don't come in boxes all labeled and perfect. People are messed up, complicated. That's one of the reasons he loves to write songs; he can write about that, the messed up edges. He doesn't need to figure everything out all at once, Adam's right. Right now, this is perfect, rough edges and all. "Yeah." He turns and smiles at Adam. Adam smiles back at him, the real one that crinkles up his eyes. "Yeah, it really is."

**Author's Note:**

> Written in pieces for various awesome charity donors.


End file.
